Harrow's Lackey
Great Arena -- The Past The Great Arena is both well-maintained and well-used, worn and nicked around the edges. The arena floor is oval-shaped and covered with fine grit, to give combatants better footing and soak up the inevitable spill of energon. There are vast magnetic generators under the arena, to similar either the low gravity of space battles or the high gravity of alien worlds. There are also pipes to flood the arena with a mercury sea, for naval battles. Oval walls pen in the arena floor, and spectators benches, plain and inelegant circle above. At the southern end of the oval, there is a circular elite seating box with trilithon walls that give it a resemblance to Earth's Stonehenge. The elite box almost has the look of a temple, perhaps fitting, given that the life and death of those on the floor may be decided by the whims of the elite. Contents: Harrow Flit Obvious exits: South leads to Liberation Arch -- The Past. Astrotrain told Catechism to go check out the fights at the Great Arena. She did. Seeing Sentinel Prime smacked around by Grimlock was even somewhat amusing. However, there's something much more near and dear to her core going down at the arena today. She stands just outside, a pair of metal tickets in her hands, and she explains, "So I maybe do a little aerial dance on the side. Sometimes." She seems a little defensive for some reason. "It's not very popular right now, but it was a lot bigger in the past, er, I mean now. But aerial dance was also a lot more elitist in the past," she snorts. "They don't like my kind." She points to her cone. "So c'mere and look cultured." Catechism holds out the second ticket. Flit is not a dancer, being not a Seeker, and only Seekers (and only flathead Seekers at that) dance. He is, in fact, a merc. Right now he's running a concessions stand, and looks rather bored. However, this job seemed to rate well in the 'risk to gain' ratio, so he's here. Harrow is trying hard to /not/ look amused at the fact that seemingly hardcore Catechism does flighty, 'frilly' dances on the side. He hides a smirk with one hand, taking the ticket with the other. "I was not around to witness its boom in popularity, unfortunately. But Pits, if it'll make me look cultured - !" Harrow It looks as if Harrow has gone through the trouble of refitting herself with the standard 'mech' Seeker armor. To the unbeknownst optic, she appears just like any other flattop, femmely curves absent. Most of her armor is painted a rich blue, with a pale yellow trim. Her left wing has two shark decals. Carrying: Medscanner Movie Projector Yes, see, people being so blasted amused about Catechism's hobby is why she generally doesn't like to admit that it is her hobby (even to herself). At least Harrow is trying very hard to not look amused. Catechism squints for a moment and then waves her hand dismissively, replying, "Oh, yes, art. It is just full of culture. And stuff." That is not why Catechism dances, but it is a good excuse. She heads for the line. Unlike with the arena match between Grimlock and the crab monster, Catechism has actually went through the trouble of buying a good pair of seats, so the line is short. Flit is still at the concession stand, which the others can't get to because they haven't gotten past the ticket booth yet. :( He watches the dancers, optics narrowed, then glances skyward, then back down. As a toughened mercenary, one would expect him to look down on such a 'girly' sport as dancing. But then, this is combat dancing, and Flit is not stupid, and so he remains alert. "Well then! Save my spot, I'm going to grab an enerslushie or something. Lemme' know if you want anything." Harrow wedges his way through the line, or rather, knees people should they fail to move. When he reaches Flit's counter, he leans uncomfortably inward, peering at the menu. "You got anything that'll keep me awake?" Catechism is a bit unsure how to go about saving Harrow's spot. They have assigned seats, and they're not like humans, who have coats and bags and whatnot to take up room on seats. Catechism looks left. She looks right. She settles for putting an unarmed grenade on Harrow's seat. This is a mostly Decepticons audience, so trying to confiscate the audience's weapons would just cause an uproar. The grenade passes without comment from any of the other around her, though she does get a few dirty looks from those around her, who scoot away a bit, as if she was contagious. Combat: Catechism has created a grenade: "Saving Harrow's Seat"! Flit backs up a bit as Harrow leans in, pointing to the menu. "That depends on if you've got any processor flaws that initiate unexpected shutdowns, I suppose. It's fuel. It'll all keep you fueled, though the Afterburner has a few additives that should give you a right jolt." "Do I /look/ like I have processor flaws?" Harrow sneers, then scoffs. "Give me five of those Afterburners. No, six. No... four. Hurry it up." He pulls back and gazes out at the arena. "You like watchin' this stuff?" Catechism has successfully guarded Harrow's seat, she believes. Her own seat, well... if someone takes it, Catechism has no problems just throwing people around, if need be. She scoots down the stairs and wanders over to the concessions to peer over Harrow's shoulder and look at what Harrow is buying. The vendor looks naggingly familiar in his mannerisms, but Catechism can't place it. "I wouldn't know. Your circuitry isn't visible," Flit answers Harrow coolly. He steps towards the dispenser in the back. He does /not/ have a signature 'tip-tap-tip-tap' to his gait. He does, however, move fairly gracefully as he scoops up a small container - sadly, this is probably before the invention of cubes - and fills it up. Then, as he's filling a second, he opens a drawer and removes something, which he drops into the drink. He does this several more times with several more drinks, placing the lot of them into a carrier, then turns around and sets it on the counter. He shrugs. "It is a reasonable way to size up their threat potential," he observes quietly. Harrow takes the carrier and lingers a bit, holding up the line. "Ca- er, Cataclysm, heh... who does he remind you of?" He cants his helm towards Flit. Admittedly it's harder to point without a conehead. "Threat potential...? Wait, we're going to see some carnage?" Catechism has usually been saying her name is 'Evangel'. There's a processor tick of a pause before she responds to 'Cataclysm', "Hmm, not sure." She moves a bit closer to the concession stand and asks, cheerily enough, "Don't suppose I woud have met you before, anywhere?" Then, she adds, "And I doooon't suppose you get any kind of rocket fuel in here, hmm?" She looks over the menu, rather doubtful. There aren't enough spacers right now for it to make any economic sense to cater to them. She grins and tries to nudge Harrow with her elbow. "If we're lucky. And someone else is unlucky." "Carnage?" Flit asks, then shrugs. "Usually. These things get pretty violent. Crazy leaking artists." He peers at Catechism, narrowing his optics to study her, and then shakes his head. "Never seen you before, and naw, no rocket fuel, though I could probably hook you up with some later." Harrow finally steps away and sips at one of the Afterburners. "Rocket fuel?" he asks cluelessly. "Well damn, didn't know dances involved violence. Color me excited. Cataclysm here is a dancer herself - ! I'm told." Catechism is a conehead, which is odd enough for a spectator at one of these events - the audience is almost entirely flathead tetrajet Seekers. She's blue-grey and black, nothing crazy in colouration, nothing to hint at a wild side. She clearly doesn't turn into a tetrajet, though what she does turn into is hard to guess, based off Cybertronian standards, but it's not hard to guess because she's making some artistic statement or anything. Catechism focuses on a spot just up and behind Flit, and she replies lowly, "I'll find you, then." More loudly and marginally more friendly, she starts to order, "One Smel - ack. Ah-hah. Ahem." Catechism shoots a glare over at Harrow. "Oh, don't be silly. Everyone knows coneheads don't daa-aah-" That would be when the fellow in line behind the two of them clocks Catechism in the face. Flit gives Harrow a surprised look at Harrow's comment, then looks at Catechism, then looks at Harrow. "Really? I've never heard of-" and then he cuts himself off as Catechism is clocked in the face. In fact, at Harrow's assertion, there are any number of rather hostile looks thrown Catechism's direction from assorted audience members. Flit just shrugs. Harrow continues to be clueless. "They don't? But y- whoa!" He jumps back, more in awe than anything else. "Is this common?" he queries to no one in particular, before looking around. "Ohhh my. Let's just get to our seats, ma'am," he tries to tug Catechism away. The Seeker who clocked Catechism shouts, not at Catechism, but at Harrow, "Keep your lackey in line, man! Don't let it get any delusions of grandeur into that pointed mistake of a head." He looks nearly on the verge of snapping and clocking Catechism again. Catechism herself brings her hand up to get face to gently feel out the injury. It isn't bad; looks worse than it is, really. Most Seekers aren't all that strong. A distinctly cold look fixes itself on her face. She at least wants to see one round, she tells herself. There'll be time for fisticuffs later, she tells herself. But it's hard to suck down her pride and just follow Harrow to their seats. Flit snorts faintly. "Common? Not so much, but then, people claiming Coneheads are dancers aren't very common, either." Flit himself gets several dirty looks as he speaks, and he raises his hands up. "Hey, /I/ didn't say she was!" Harrow finds it hard to keep a straight face as the mention of Cate's pointy head. "It... uh... c'mon lackey!" he barks, then faces the aggressor while walking backwards, "Sorry, she's always making up silly fantasies, we're trying to get it fixed...!" His voice switches to a harsh, loud whisper, "Quit embarrassing me!" With a yank, he tries to drag poor Catechism towards the grenade-guarded seats. The other angry audience members appear to be somewhat appeased by Harrow, but they continue to shoot dirty looks at Catechism, more now than before. Catechism twitches, and she wants so very badly to just clock that Seeker back. As Harrow drags her off, she tries to takes in his particular colour scheme, just in case she ever sees him near Straxus's smelting pools. No safety rails. No anti-gravs. Oh yes, she's shoving him in, if she gets the chance. Catechism settles down in her seat, and she grunts, "The grenade's not live." A pause. "Sir." Flit watches the two leave and shakes his head. "Odd pair," he mutters underneath his breath, making mental note of the behavior. Then he turns to the next customer and gets back to work. "An explosive..." Harrow stares, and finally shrugs, /carefully/ handing it back to Catechism. Certainly one way to keep folks of your seat. He's on his second drink by the time he gets settled, leaning over with a low voice, "Why all the hatred towards coneheads?" Catechism takes the grenade back, not nearly so carefully as Harrow handles it. She actually tosses the grenade back and forth in her hands as if it was a stressball, but unlike a stressball, it just might stress everyone around her. Lowly, trying to avoid being overheard, she replies, "We're different." That is not a particularly helpful answer, for all that it is true. The show should be starting soon, and Catechism watches the field. Harrow didn't expect much of an answer from Catechism. "Different. Alright then. Here, hold this," he insists, passing his two remaining beverages off to his lackey. Gotta' make it look convincing! And milk this opportunity for all it was worth... Tetrajets finally make their way onto the field, and Harrow claps a little too enthusiastically. Catechism puts the grenade down on her lap and pretends to be a cup-holder. There is a distinctly disgruntled look on her face. It, however, vanishes when the dancers take to the air, replaced by rapt attention. There are four of them, and they all at least have STOVL capacity, making it into the air in the short span that is the length of the arena. They weave around each other, like a braid, barely a hand's span from each other as they gain altitude. Harrow simply kicks back and waits for said carnage, or at least someone to screw up and smash into someone else, or better yet, part of the audience. Not /their/ part of course. Very fancy and precise so far, but Harrow has yet to be impressed. He sure hopes he looks cultured, though. "Recognize any tricks?" he murmurs. Catechism leans back in her chair, all the better to look up at the sky, "It's pretty basic, so far. Wouldn't expect anything too advanced, but," she points, "See the one with those twinkling lights on the edges? He's cocky." He looks little like a starry night, midnight blue with pale little lights on his frame. There is a purple one, because there is always a purple one, and a medium blue one, too, and finally a silver and chrome one. Abruptly, the jets split, two streaking off north, two south. "Mmm," Harrow hums in response, optics staying on the van-gogh-bot. "Cocky. I wonder if he'll crash. Nice paint job though, shame if it went up in flames." Another 'con sitting behind Catechism begins to make unhappy noises - Cate's cone is blocking his view. Perhaps that is the secret of why flatheads don't like coneheads at dances; the points get in the way of the view. Catechism notes quietly, "There's more to it than just crashing," and she isn't talking about artistic merit. At the far ends of the visible sky, the two groups turn, now racing furiously at each other, now gaining altitude again, inscribing a rough tent shape. At the point of the tent, they immediately transform and freefall. The starry one is a moment late in his transform, and the other three all swivel - and shoot at him. Bah, art! Then Harrow almost jumps out of his seat. "Holy - !! Did you see that!" he exclaims, pointing, then rocks back to shake Cate's shoulder, "Is that normal? Part of the show?" The audience seems to take the shooting in stride, and some of them cheer or nod knowingly, with a few comments of, "Had it coming!" circulating. Catechism is nodding. She explains, "Oh, of course! I should have said earlier. Whenever one dancer makes an error, the others are obligated to shoot him. If they fail, that is also an error, and they can be shot for it in turn. Freefalling, the dancers link hands, making a design like a diamond. The starry one seems to recover from his mistake for now. "Ha-HA!" Harrow falls back in his seat with a clap. "There's some motivation! Serves you RIGHT!" he shouts, jabbing a finger out at the cocky jet. Not that Harrow had spotted the error, as obvious as it might've been. "Oi, more yer fraggin' pointy head 'fore I flatten it myself," growls the 'con behind Catechism. Catechism leans way back and looks up at the fellow behind her. She's still holding Harrow's drinks, and there's that grenade on her lap. She asks quietly but firmly, "Do you want to see what happens when Mr. Pin and Mr. Grenade aren't friends anymore? Or do you want to shut up and deal with it?" Catechism has a fuse, but every demolitionist knows that every fuse burns out eventually. The dancers switch their pattern as they fall, crisscrossing into something like a cat's cradle. Now, it is the silver and chrome Seeker that errs, putting his hand under the wave when it should have been over, and the guns are upon him with a burst of laserfire. In trying to bring his guns to bear, the starry one breaks the pattern. The guns are back on him, now blowing out some of his twinkling lights. The dancers break apart, with the ground rushing up quickly. Harrow quite happily lets Catechism deal with the disgruntled mech, absolutely enthralled with the 'dance'. "This is... quite the sport!" he notes, taking another drink, practically buzzing from its effects. Jolt indeed. He's almost tempted to spring out of the stands and join them. "Can you do this stuff, then?" Most of the dancers are fast. They ooze speed, even standing still. The ground is still faster than the lavender one. He impacts hard. He doe manage to transform, and start to taxi to limp back into the air. The other three, however, make the transforms and flying up, like a claw enclosing, before inverting to fire at the unfortunate lavender one, and this time, both starry and chrome are quick on it. Lavender spins out and hits the wall hard, a blossom of orange flame. Catechism stares up at the fellow behind her a moment, to see that they have an understanding about Catechism's temper and Mr. Grenade. Then, she straightens and looks over at Harrow. Whispering, she answers, "Oh yeah, I could do /that/. It gets trickier when you add in, ah..." She looks down at her boots. Anti-gravs make some moves easier, but no one ever leaves things easy. "This is like pit fighting almost!" Harrow grins, then cheers when the lavender jet appears to explode. "That carnie was right, violence! Woo! Ahh right, they don't have anti-grrruuhmmmm." He shuts up, chugging the rest of his drink. "Think I may see more of these. Perhaps you'll be in the next one, if you do something about your head." Harrow vanishes out of reality. Harrow has left. Do something about her head? It's blasted uncomfortable to fold her cone back! But tricking this crowd would certainly be worth it, to see the looks on their faces, Catechism has to admit, but she thinks she could get similar satisfaction by just pulling the pin in the grenade and throwing it. Some Time Later Catechism seeks out Flit, as she threatened earlier. Flit is packing up the stand. He glances up as he hears the approach of Catechism. Blast! As threatened! Catechism nods along and grins, replying, "I appreciate it." She takes a look out at the arena and the wreckage, thoughfully, before muttering, "Idiot shouldn't have added the lights. Too much processor power to sync the twinkling with the moves, without practise." And lo, they did exit the arena to go off and speak with shady dealers.